The Advent of Little Lotte
by TheatreGirl81
Summary: After the death of her mother Charlotte travels to Paris to learn the truth about her father
1. Chapter 1

_You may think me callous to write this and not tell you to your face, but I think it's easier if all the facts are laid before you. After you read this I'm sure you'll have questions, and I will answer then as best as I can, I promise. But what you about to read are the details of the aftermath of my break up with Richard. We fought constantly in that last month and then I learned the truth. He was having an affair._

That was the last straw. I ended our engagement and took off on an extended "vacation". I needed to be alone and as far as away from the states as I could get. I went to Paris and that was where I met him.

Let's be honest, there's only one reason why someone in my situation runs off to a foreign country: to have an affair. I was mad and upset and spiteful. I thought 'if he could do it so could I'. But that doesn't mean you were unwanted. On the contrary, when I found out I was pregnant I was overjoyed. In fact, you gave me something to live for, someone to focus on who needed me now that I was forced back into the real world.

You never see a disaster coming. I know now that I was lucky. I wasn't thinking and I could have been seriously hurt or even killed. When I was knocked out during the mugging it was Erik who whisked me away to safety, so you see why I couldn't deny him my company later. He took care of me when I was injured like some guardian angel when he could have just as easily left me there. I woke up in a bedroom in house that I had never seen before. I was scared, but he was there. He assured me that he meant no harm; that he had brought me here to tend to my sprained ankle. He had even recovered my purse.

But even though I don't know as much about Erik as I should I am sure that your father saved my life. He was kind, gentle, and told me I reminded him of a woman he lost long ago. I know, it sounds like a corny line from a romance novel, but his words seduced me. He showed me her picture, he wore it in a locket close to his heart and this woman looked a lot like me. The picture was faded and in black and white, but there was a resemblance. He called her Christine.

Erik's home was actually a penthouse that overlooked Paris. It was a lovely view at night, looking out over the lights of the city. We spent most of my two week in Paris together. He took me to cafés, museums, shows, and concerts. He wielded great influence in the city and the proprietors of these places always welcomed him like a dignitary. But through it all he never showed any egotism.

He loved art, masonry work, and spoke of Parisian history as if he had lived it. He had an impressive collection of books, and most of them were biographies of artists and musicians, along with stacks of books on famous architecture. He loved the classics and read me the works of great French poets.

But, above all, he worshipped music and there was always some tune playing softly in the background, he had a stereo system linked to every room in his home, even the bathroom. Music transcends all other things, he told me at one point. It connects people who have no other way of communicating. Once the music entwines itself in your soul it never leaves you. He always spoke like that, in that knowing way that showed he was intelligent beyond his years - I judged him to be in his early to mid thirties, forty at the most because of his worldly knowledge.

He was fluent in English and French, but could sing in countless other languages. Italian arias from opera were his favorite. He was a composer himself, and strived to create music that could stand up to Mozart, Chopin, and Beethoven. He collected instruments and had an entire room filled with them. They were all in pristine shape and his favorite treasure was a violin he claimed was made in the 1800's. He even told me he played the organ several times a week at the cathedral, just to stay in practice.

So you see why I was entranced by him? And why my need to sleep with some random stranger was overshadowed by my love for this man I had known for only a week? Yes, it was love. I had no regrets then and I have none now; especially now that I have a piece of him to carry in my heart.

And one day the two of us will take a trip to Paris and find him again, permanently completing our family.

I know, it sounds like a corny line from a romance novel, but his words seduced me. Charlotte Davis reread the line and sighed. This was not some ironic line penned, by a smartass author in a Harlequin novel, to make woman of a certain age swoon at the charms of a romantic hero.

This was a letter written to Charlotte by her mother Kirstin explaining the details behind Charlotte's birth. As many times as she had read this letter, Charlotte couldn't comprehend its true meaning; couldn't come to terms that she was the product of a one night stand. Maybe it would be different if her mother was there with her, to explain face to face the details of this strange confrontation, as she had promised she would.

But Kristin was dead. She had passed away, unexpectedly, in childbirth twenty-two years ago leaving Charlotte to be raised by her grandparents. And while they had treated her well, they treated her with pity, like the orphan she was.

But then, when Charlotte turned, eighteen, she was given the letter. Vince, her grandfather had pulled her aside and handed her a plain white envelope with her name scrawled on it. He had explained, sheepishly, that he had no idea what it was. He and his wife Jenny had found it when they went through their daughter's room and there had been debate over what to do with it. Jenny wanted to read it, but Vince opposed that idea, saying that Kristen had meant for her daughter's eyes alone.

Because they didn't know what the letter had contained, they had waited to give it to Charlotte until she was old enough to handle the weight of the mystery. The note was dated, and it had been written right around the time Kristen discovered her pregnancy, but before she knew the sex of the child. The question now was whether or not Charlotte believed her mother's story. But, despite that, she made the burden hers alone. She refused to tell Vince and Jenny what the letter contained. Her grandparents had not taken the news of Kristen's pregnancy well and after she died their tolerance of this mystery man had not improved.

Charlotte hadn't known what to do at first, so she had refrained from taking any action. Instead she focused on college. And that was when she met and fell in love with Philip Coleman. He was everything she had wanted in a lover, and Charlotte had been ecstatic when he proposed on her birthday.

"Good afternoon, this is your captain speaking."

Charlotte jumped as she was unexpectedly jarred out of her thoughts.

"We would ask that you fasten your seatbelts and put your seatbacks and tray tables in the upright and locked position. We will begin our descent into Le Bourget momentarily. The time is 3:45 PM.

Philip reached over and patted Charlotte's leg. "Are you alright? You looked pretty intently immersed in your thoughts." He whispered to her under the captain's announcements that were being repeated in French.

Paris. Charlotte was really going to Paris. After the engagement, Charlotte had shared the secret of her mysterious father. Philip had been intrigued and had even talked her into this trip. Why should she put it off now that she was out of college and starting a new life? Surprised by his genuine care of her Charlotte had agreed and here they were.

"I'm sorry," Charlotte told him. "I'm not making good company right now. I just can't stop thinking about everything."

Philip leaned back in his seat. "You're distracted, I don't blame you. This is a big step for you, so no worries."

Charlotte smiled. "You're to good to me."

"Well you shouldn't be making this trip alone," he replied. "I'm flattered that you choose to tell me this story, so why wouldn't I help you track down your father? Have you given any thought to what you're going to say to him?"

"Honestly no," Charlotte replied. "I mean, all I have to go on is that his name is Erik, he lived in a penthouse twenty years ago, and he's some kind of eccentric millionaire genius."

"I would think that would make it easier to find," Philip told her. "If he has as much influence as your mother hinted at someone has to know where he is."

"It's like something out of a story," Charlotte told him. "I mean it sounds eerily familiar."

Philip smiled. "Erik, the mad genius in the Paris Opera House and Kristin Davis, your mother, reminding him of a woman named Christine Daaé. It is ironic."

"Grandma said my mother brought Leroux's book home with her and that she read it over and over," Charlotte told him. "And there are the other coincidences that parallel the book."

"Do enlighten me to what you've discovered."

Charlotte squirmed in her seat. "She came to Paris after a break up with a man named Richard. Christine's second suitor was named Raoul. And in the book he had a brother named Philippe. The Phantom lets her go with Raoul in the end."

"What happens to the brother?" Philip asked, morbid curiosity taking over.

Charlotte wouldn't look at him. "He dies. Drowning."

***

Since they were spending a week in Paris, Philip decided that they should spend the first few days sightseeing around the city. He didn't want Charlotte to spend the whole of their trip obsessing over a man who they may not even find.

She seemed alright with displacing things for those few days, but then the curiosity took over and she went to the city office to see if she could find anything pertaining to Erik. But without a last name to look up the administrators couldn't help her.

Next, Philip took her to the police station to see if there had been a report filed by Kristin about the mugging. There hadn't been. But a kind, older cop had taken them aside and offered her a strange piece of information, off the record.

"There was a strange incident that occurred the night after you say your mother arrived here. A call came in reporting that if sounded like a woman was being attacked outside of the Opera House."

Philip and Charlotte exchanged a knowing look at the mention of the location.

"May I ask what you found?" Philip asked.

"There was no sign of a woman, but there was a man lying in the street, dazed, as if he was just waking." The cop shook his head. "He said he had been attacked by a man in a mask and that, before he passed out, he saw this person carry a woman off."

"Did his story hold any weight?" Charlotte asked.

The officer sighed. "All we knew was that he had a concussion. Someone had knocked him silly, but there was no sign of any woman or of his mystery assailant."

***

A half hour later Charlotte and Philip sat in a small café drinking coffee.

"My guess is that your father knocked out the robber before he could truly hurt your mother."

Charlotte nodded. "If Erik hadn't been there… What else would that man have done to my mother?" She shuddered and tightened her grip on the coffee mug.

"Let not think about that," Philip told her. "But this mystery keeps getting more and more intriguing. I mean, at least now we have a location, a point of reference to start looking for clues."

"It makes me wonder though…" Charlotte began.

Philip eyed her, but kept silent.

"My mother never mentioned a mask in her letter. All she talked about was how influential this man was, never that he was deformed."

"Stop paralleling the novel," Philip told her. "It's probably just a coincidence the mugger said that. It was evening, so maybe there were shadows covering this man's face."

"He told the cop that he pulled off the mask."

"No, what he said was the man 'ripped off the man's face' Char. I agree with Officer LeBlanc, this man was either drunk or got hit hard enough to make him delusional. You can't pull off a man's face and leave no trace of blood."

"So it's just a coincidence that my mother was rescued by a masked man in front of the Paris Opera?"

Philip rolled his eyes. "What about the penthouse she said he lived in?"

Charlotte shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe he does own a fancy penthouse, I mean it is modern day and all, so he could. But without a last name I can't look into real estate records. Or my mother just made that all up to protect him. Maybe he really does live in a house under the opera beyond the lake."

"Char, it's just a story. There's no Phantom of the Opera."

"You sound just like Raoul!"

"And you sound…" Philip stopped, shook his head, and sighed. When he spoke again his voice was calmer and barely a whisper. "Char I'm sorry, but I'm starting to worry about you. I brought you here to track down your father, a flesh and blood man who saved your mother's life. What you're suggesting… Do you realize that you just insinuated your father could be a fictional character?"

"Obviously he's not a character. Obviously he was real and my mother met him." Charlotte stood up. "And I'm going to prove it." She got up and turned to leave.

"Charlotte…"

"No!" she stalked off.

"Damn it," Philip cursed. He moved to follow her.

"Monsieur, you must wait," a voice called to him. "You must pay the tab."

Philip slid back into his chair and grumbled. At least he knew where Charlotte was going and could catch up to her, but that didn't mean he had to like it.

***

Charlotte was livid. How could Philip fail to acknowledge these coincidences? Something strange was going on in Paris and she was connected it, so it was her duty to see this through. She wiped away tears, thinking how happy Philip had been to help her. Now he thought she was crazy.

Well she'd show him! The question was how…

If she went to the theatre now he'd follow her, so her first thought was to duck into a church. Charlotte figured she'd hide there for a few hours before going to the Opera House. Once there she'd conceal her presence and explore the building after hours.

But then she thought better of her plan. Doubling back, she went back to the hotel and grabbed her knapsack and added some provisions. Then she went to a local store and bought a flashlight, just in case there were no lights in the Opera House after hours.

Only then did she find a church. Kneeling in an ornate pew, she prayed that once she found her answers Philip would forgive her brash behavior.

***

The Opera House had closed and Charlotte was alone. Pushing back her hesitance, she emerged from the restroom and moved about the deserted landmark. It was eerie at night with only minimal lighting to illuminate the space.

But this had been her choice. She needed to find her answers. Needed to find him.

"Hello?" she called. "Is there anyone here? Erik? Erik, I need to talk to you…"

The sound of footsteps broke the din. A shadow moved in the corner of Charlotte's eye. She spun around to see no one. All was quiet except for the ponding of her heart. She moved with growing paranoia, trying to see if there was else in the vicinity.

Sure that her own imagination was finally taking over, Charlotte turned towards the exit, hoping she could find a way out. But she found herself staring into the beam of a flashlight. Biting back a scream, Charlotte stumbled back. She couldn't see the man holding the light, but by his clothing she guessed he was a night watchman.

Shit.


	2. Chapter 2

"What are you doing here, mademoiselle?"

"I was… I just…" Charlotte searched for an explanation that would make sense. "I'm sorry, I got locked in."

The man looked doubtful. "You know I could turn you in to the police for trespassing?"

"Look, I would tell you the truth, but you'd think I'm crazy."

"Believe me, I've heard it all." He sounded irritated. "You were calling out the name Erik. Everyone, locals and tourists from every walk of life come in here looking for magic. Looking for a ghost."

"I'm looking for a real man," she told him. "Do you know a man named Erik who lives near here? I need to talk to him."

The man gestured towards the lobby. "I'll show you out. Come on."

Something was tugging at Charlotte and she didn't want to let this drop. "Look, I'm not some crazy fan. There was an attack outside here twenty some years ago, and a man name Erik saved my mother's life."

This made the name stop. "How many years ago?"

"Twenty two, almost twenty three," she replied. "Look, I don't know how long you've worked here but…"

"I've been here forever it seems."

Charlotte squinted, trying to get a better look at him through the obscuring beam of light.

"What was her name?" he questioned.

"It doesn't matter, there was no police report filed."

"Her name, Mademoiselle."

"Kristin. Kristin Davis."

"And you said she was your mother?"

"Yes."

"I think you'd better follow me to the office." He turned to lead the way.

Giving no thought to being alone with this man, Charlotte followed him. The office he spoke of was a security room, small and cramped with a filing cabinet, bookshelf, desk, and two chairs. He flipped on the light and sat on the edge of the desk, offering the chair to Charlotte. She sat, dropping her bag on the floor.

She sat and took her chance to study her companion. He looked peaked, worried and confused all at the same time and he wiped his face with a handkerchief. He seemed to be about thirty with piercing brown eyes and dark hair that was pulled back into a ponytail. He wore work clothes, but no name tag.

"So you've come to find your mother's savior?" he asked before she could quiz him first.

Charlotte nodded. "Yes monsieur."

"Is Kristin with you?"

"No, just my fiancée." She hesitated. "I'm not sure where he is, we got into a fight earlier."

The man nodded. "It always seems to be the way," he whispered.

"What was that, monsieur?"

"How is your mother?" he sounded pained.

Charlotte lowered her. "She died a long time ago. In child birth."

"My god…"

"I only found out the truth four years ago… about Paris and my father. So you see I am really looking for this Erik…"

"He's your father." The man made it a statement. He slid from the desk and knelt at her feet. "Charlotte… I am your father."

She blinked at him, uncomprehending his words. "You… You're Erik? It's not possible. My mother said he was around 30 when she met him."

"That requires a complicated explanation," he replied. "Tell me Charlotte, if Kristin passed…" He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "How did you find out about me?"

She reached down to route through her bag. She pulled out an envelope and handed it to Erik. He received it reverently and traced the name, or the script itself. Standing, he moved back to his perch on the edge of the desk.

"Charlotte… Do they call you Char?"

"Philip does, but I prefer something else."

Erik swallowed thickly. "And what would that be, Mademoiselle?" He seemed to be putting off reading the letter.

Charlotte pulled out a book. "My mother left this to me. It's the one she brought back from Paris. She didn't want to write in it, but she did find a way." She held it out.

Erik put the letter on the desk and took the book. It was the copy of "The Phantom of the Opera" he had given Kristin. He opened it and found a post-it note taped on the inside of the cover.

_This is a gift for you Charlotte. I'll love you forever, Little Lotte._

"Lotte…"

"Father."

Erik raised his eyes and met Charlotte's. They were both crying. Carefully, Erik reached for the letter again and this time he pulled the sheet of paper free and read what Kristin had written to her daughter.

After a moment he looked up. "Christine was as real as I was."

"And you let her go because you loved her?"

"Yes," he answered. "Kristin was descended from her line. We researched her family tree while she was here."

"But…" Charlotte hesitated. "How is it that you can be so young looking if Christine was real? That would make you…"

"Well over a hundred years," he finished. "So we're back to this. Let me finish reading your mother's words so I can see what you know. But I swear you'll soon know the secrets that lay behind my mask."

"What mask?"

Erik ignored her, but not in a cruel way. His teary eyes scanned the page before him and his breath hitched. He folded the paper and placed it back in the envelope.

"What do you know of the opera _Faust_?"

"Faust was a doctor who made a deal with the…"

A loud noise from the lobby startled Charlotte and she fell silent at a wave from Erik's hand. He moved to the door as to hear better.

"Monsieur… Monsieur wait!"

"Charlotte! Charlotte, are you here?"

"Philip is it?" Erik asked quietly.

"Yes." Charlotte stood. "Maybe I should go… Let him know I'm alright."

Erik nodded stiffly. "If you think it's for the best. Call me selfish, but I'd hate for him to take you away. Once you leave I may never get a chance to get to know you."

"I'd never let that happen," she assured him.

"Are you sure she's here, Monsieur?" The officer's voice again.

"Damn it, I know she is!" Philip sounded angry.

"Take me with you."

"What?" Erik turned.

"Take me with you." Charlotte put the book and the letter into her bag. "Take me to the penthouse if you have one or to the house beyond the lake."

"If you do this…"

"My mother disappeared for a week and so can I. They will check this whole building to find me."

"Not all of it." Erik's resolve snapped into place.

Moving swiftly, Erik pulled a book from the shelf and the whole apparatus swung open. Charlotte barely hesitated to move into the passage. Erik was on her heels and hit a second lever that closed the door, throwing them into total darkness.

"I can't see," Charlotte whispered.

"Trust me, my girl," he soothed. "Give me your hand."

When he felt Lotte's hand slid into his he began down the hall. A moment later he switched on his flashlight to illuminate the passageway. She was so trusting, so unafraid of him just as the other two woman had been.

He knew the building in and out and soon he had navigated the maze of corridors. They emerged into one of the basements. Props and costumes were shelved and organized around them, but they paid no heed to these relics and treasures.

"If you have the house by the lake why do you own a penthouse?" Charlotte asked.

"Because in this day and age you need a legal street address to do anything," he told her. "All of my accounts are linked there. But I don't use it often. When I found your mother I didn't want to frighten her any more than needed."

"So she saw your private house?"

"She did," Erik said. "And she loved it."

Charlotte swallowed down a lump that had risen to her throat. "You loved my mother too, didn't you? Why did you let her go?"

"I couldn't keep her here," he answered. "She had to go back to her life. I only wish she would have told me about you; written to me. She knew I'd get post at the other house."

"I don't know why she didn't…" Charlotte trailed off. "Wait, you read the letter; she wanted to bring me to meet you. I think she was she was going to surprise you; but she died and never got to make the plans. I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault, Lotte," Erik told her. "No one can foresee these tragedies."

Once they were at the house at the lake, a calm feeling settled over Charlotte. She was at peace here. It was perfect. Erik lit a fire and pulled some wine, bread, and cheese from an ice chest. The house was lit by candles and there were absolutely no hints of modern technology. She had steeped back into the life of Christine.

"So… You said you would tell me about your life, how you're still as young as you were when you met my mother."

"I did." He moved to a chair across from hers. "Do you believe in magic, Lotte?"

"Well I…" she stopped herself. "I guess magic exists in some form if you are sitting here before me."

Erik nodded. "My life was cold and lonely. I was born deformed and back a hundred years ago that did not sit well with society…"

"Wait a minute," Charlotte interrupted. "You're not deformed. There's nothing wrong with you, and mother never said anything."

"Your mother, like my sweet Christine, could see past it," he said, seemingly skirting the actual inquiry. "They accepted me as I was and didn't pull away from my face, hence why your mother and I had… a moment. In this day and age I can hide more easily, especially in a theatre full of resources. The Phantom does indeed wear a mask, Charlotte, but it is far less noticeable."

"But… it's so lifelike, you'd never know." She thought back to the mugger 'pulling off' Erik's face and it made sence now.

"Maybe I'll show you what lies underneath one day, but not yet," Erik told her. "Anyway, after the debacle with Christine, Raoul, and Philippe I decided to wait for my love to come back to me. I knew she would come back one day, so I needed a way to be here when she did. So I delved into some magic I had discovered in my trips around Persia. I found a way to make a deal with the devil and stay young and virtually immortal."

Charlotte thought back to their earlier conversation again. "Like what happened in _Faust_?"

"To an extent," Erik replied. "Music, great literature, and love are three things that transcend time. So I invented an alter ego and wrote the first draft of my biography with ink mixed with my own blood. I have the copy in my library. Now as long as the story persists, as long as people clamor to read about the Phantom, as long as they believe in the passion and get lost in the music Erik lives on."

"You're Gaston Leroux?"

"I am," he answered.

"But… but what about all the other books? The other books, movies and the musical?"

"It all comes back to me," he explained. "They are all derived from the original tale. Immortality is in the name Erik, in the title The Phantom of the Opera. But it was all for not. I lost Kristin too."

"You couldn't have known," Charlotte told him. "No one knew she'd slip away. Please, you can't blame yourself for that. And I'm here now, surely that counts for something."

"My Lotte…" he sighed. "If only there was a way…"

"A way for what?"

"For us to have more time," Erik said. "Even if you come back to me your life will be so short compared to mine."

"What if I move here?" she asked. "You could watch over my family, see them all grow and when they have children they could be your companions."

"It's not the same," he said. "I understand what you are trying to do, and it is very kind. Happiness was all I ever truly wanted for Christine."

"But it's different," Charlotte told him. "I'm your daughter, not your lover. You wouldn't have to see the woman you love going off and marrying someone else. Philip is not Raoul. He won't take me away from you, I won't allow it."

"Watching over Christine's family…" Erik smiled softly. "I think I could handle that. Being a friend, a benefactor…"

"A mentor," Charlotte cut in. "Besides, that's where truly immortality occurs: in the memories and lives of your children and grandchildren. I swear to you, father, you will live on in the hearts of my descendants."

"I love you, Lotte."

Charlotte hugged him. "I love you too."

He had said this before and later regretted, but Erik felt he had to say it. "Ask anything of me and if it's in my power I will grant you what you wish."

She hesitated. "There's only one thing I want to know right now." She laid her hand against his cheek. "What do you look like? What is the true face of my father?"

Hands shaking, Erik reached up and peeled away his second-skin mask, revealing the haunting, deformed face of the Phantom.


End file.
